Things Better Left Unsaid
by ladybleugonewilde
Summary: Summer after HBP. After listening to his father's advice, Ron has decided to make his play for Hermione. Will this wooing go awry? Originally written as a QuoteChallenge fic. Please Read and Review!


**Things Better Left Unsaid**

The sun was waning in the sky above the Burrow as Ron navigated his trunk up the stairs to his room. Holding the trunk strap in one hand, he turned awkwardly to open the door. Bracing the added weight against his legs, Ron forced the door open with his shoulder and dragged the battered trunk against the worn, wooden floorboards, scuffing tracks into the light trace of dust upon the floor. Setting it at the foot of his bed, he took a slight turn about the cramped space, blinking against the flashing orange walls before stepping up to the window.

Watching the sun dip lower in the sky, Ron looked down at the occasional table which rested beneath his modest window casement. His fingers traced over the items there—a stack of Exploding Snap cards, his old tin of Chocolate Frog trading cards and a worn leather case which housed his Wizard Chess pieces. How long had it been since he'd had a good game? Was it really almost three years now?

Sinking into the forgiving mattress of his bed, Ron looked around the room once more, watching the Chudley Cannons players zoom in and out of focus within the borders of their individual posters. For once the sight failed to thrill or comfort him. Dumbledore was gone, the war had come to their doorstep, and no one would ever be safe again.

Not for the first time that day, he found himself thinking about Hermione. His insides felt as if they were trying to gnaw their way out of his body and he rubbed his abdomen with firm, kneading fingers. He wondered if she had made it home safely from King's Cross station, whether she was already settled into her childhood home or found herself feeling like a stranger there, as out of place as Ron himself felt at the moment.

He felt so withdrawn from this space, as if the orange bedspread beneath his fingers belonged to someone much younger and the toys and trinkets that he would have clasped up in glee and wonder only a year ago seemed as empty and hollow as the armless Krum doll that rested in the shadows of his closet.

When had he started to grow up this year? Somewhere between first kisses and final goodbyes, Ron had begun to see the world as something infinitely flawed, imperfect, and life as a condition which ended far too abruptly for his liking. For once, he saw love as something that was not guaranteed every person, as if people could cheat themselves out of true love by wasting their stolen moments playing at love with strangers rather than risking their pride and fighting for the person that they truly wanted.

He was beginning to understand that sometimes people made their homes in their lovers' hearts without detection, pressing chaste kisses against the warm, throbbing walls until the host looked inside himself and found love there, waiting on him. Ron pressed a hand to his chest, feeling a bittersweet twinge at these thoughts. He knew who rested her bushy head within his undeserving heart, but he wondered whether he had ever made an impression on hers.

Had kisses born of nothing more than an embarrassing curiosity hollowed her heart out for someone else, or was there a way to creep back in and tug gently until she accepted what he already knew, that there was no one better suited to love one another than Hermione Jane Granger and Ronald Bilius Weasley?

But these thoughts did nothing to settle Ron's troubled mind. Suddenly, he felt worn and unreasonably tired. Stretching out on the mattress with slow movements, Ron rested his head in the crook of his arm and reflected on the last time he had set eyes on Hermione.

Was it really only a few hours ago that he had clasped her warm, shivering body to his in a comforting hug, only a few twists of a Time Turner since she had dried her tears on his shirt front and quietly begged him to take care of himself until they saw each other again?

He had no qualms about his own safety, but had urged her to conduct herself with more caution than usual in the Muggle world. It was too long a gap between the time she would spend with her parents and the moment she would return to the wizarding world for Bill's wedding. No one could guarantee her safety until then.

These concerns rattled through his brain incessantly, and it was with a great frown marring his face that Ron fell into a troubled sleep. Waking up with a start, he inhaled sharply as his eyes became accustomed to the dark.

Watching shadows flit across his darkened walls, the lumpy forms of snoozing Chudley Cannons players napping peacefully in their posters, Ron sat up on his bed and ruffled the hair at the back of his head. Glancing at the clock on his bedside table, Ron was only slightly surprised to see that it was the middle of the night. Even the ghoul in the attic had given up and gone to bed hours ago.

Ron felt parched, rubbing the sleep from the corners of his eyes, and decided to go downstairs for a cup of chamomile tea. Watching the dust motes spring to life in the moonlight as he shuffled restlessly across the floor, Ron began making a list of chores for himself in the morning. Pausing at the bottom of the stairs, Ron reeled at the thought that he must be growing up. Why else would he be planning the proper order in which to clean his room at nearly four in the morning?

Filling the kettle with water, Ron scratched his side absently before turning off the tap. Placing the kettle on the burner, he leaned down to turn on the stove, adjusting the knob until a friendly flame winked at him from beneath the pot. Stumbling over to the cabinets, he dug through several containers, yawning into his open hand as he finally found the box of his mother's favorite chamomile tea and placed it on the counter beside a rustic mug and jar of honey. He glanced towards the door in surprise as he heard the springs of the screen door creak in warning. Soon, the kitchen door was opening to admit Arthur Weasley into the room.

Raising his eyebrows in surprise, Mr. Weasley said, "Ron? What're you doing up at this time of night, son? Honestly, I thought that I was about to have to chastise your mother for waiting up too late for me again!"

The two chuckled lightly as Mr. Weasley settled his work things by the door before stepping more fully into the room.

Indicating the kettle with his hand, Ron answered. "I couldn't sleep. Thought a cup of Mum's chamomile would help."

"Right-O," Arthur answered with a tight smile. "I think I fancy a cup as well. Anything in particular keeping you awake, Ron?"

Ron shook his head slightly, turning off the stove as the kettle began to whistle. Pulling another mug from the cupboard, Ron poured the steaming water over the crumpled tea leaves in first one and then the other before turning to carry the steaming mugs over to the rough-hewn kitchen table. Settling them on the cool wooden surface, he went back to gather the honey and spoons from the counter before meeting his father at the table. Settling into the chair across from his father, Ron pushed the honey towards him and waited to add the sweetener to his own tea.

They sat there for a moment, sharing awkward smiles as they listlessly stirred the amber-colored liquid in their mugs. Mr. Weasley took a careful swig from his mug before looking back at his son. Ron held his own mug between two large hands, warming them with the heat that emanated from the ceramic cup. Meeting his father's concerned gaze with one of his own, Ron found himself speaking without really thinking about it.

"I'm worried about Hermione." He answered, frowning slightly as he dropped his gaze once again to the contents of his mug. "It isn't safe in the Muggle world anymore . . . for her or Harry. It's not really any safer in the wizarding world either, but at least we have the strength of the community."

Taking a deep swallow from his mug, Ron gasped as the liquid burned its way down his throat. Inhaling slowly, his voice cracked as he continued.

"Harry . . . he's got the members of the Order to watch over him, but what has Hermione got? She may be the smartest witch in Hogwarts history, but what chance does she stand against a horde of Death Eaters, against . . . against _Voldemort_ himself?"

Mr. Weasley winced at the mention of the name but didn't correct his son. He waited for Ron to finish.

"She's helpless, Dad." Ron whispered hoarsely, raising pained eyes to his father's face. "If Dumbledore can die . . ."

He let the worry hang in the air, unable to voice his ultimate worry—that he had run out of time. That, by the next time he saw her, he would only be able to pay his last respects rather than reveal his true feelings to her. That he had missed his chance.

Ron felt his father's hand grasp his own, urging him to once again meet his gaze.

"As to that . . ." Mr. Weasley began, "I didn't want to cause anymore undue worry on that score this afternoon at the train station, but . . . She is not unprotected, Ron. Some of the Order's best agents are watching over her as we speak."

Ron felt his insides tremble slightly at his father's words. She wasn't alone then. But there was a hollow feeling in his stomach that wouldn't go away no matter how many gulps of warm chamomile tea he consumed.

Ron glanced at his father as he heard him clear his throat and found the elder Weasley gazing at the bottom of his empty mug.

"More tea, Dad?"

"No, son. I was just thinking."

Ron waited for him to continue, taking another long swallow from his mug.

"How long have you been in love with Hermione, Ron?"

Ron answered by sputtering the contents of his mug across the table at his father. Watching the older man perform a cleansing charm thoughtlessly as he waited for his youngest son to regain his composure, Ron thought frantically of ways to lie and deny his father's words. Finally, the weariness that had greeted him when he took his trunk up to his bedroom the night before returned to him, calming him.

Taking a deep breath, he murmured, "How long have you known?"

Smiling slightly, Arthur answered. "Well, I believe your mother and I had our suspicions in your fourth year when you began writing about how 'stupid' Hermione was to 'have taken up' with 'that ancient Bulgarian git,' I believe your words were."

Ron ducked his head and blushed as his father continued.

"Of course, last Christmas we felt certain that something was going on between the two of you. With Harry going through his own struggles, you two had become as thick as thieves. Your mother and I were certain that you would declare yourself by this past Christmas. Imagine our surprise when your sister wrote to tell us about your girlfriend _Lavender_! I could tell though, that over the holidays you weren't really happy. You never let on too strongly, but I saw you gazing at the present Hermione had sent your sister more than once, and noticed that when she came to show it to us, you didn't have a gift to show as well. What happened there, Ron? I don't mean to push, but I can't help but wonder."

Ron swallowed the lump in his throat and answered slowly.

"I was stupid, Dad. A real First-Class git, really. See, Hermione and I had been getting closer this year, or at least I had thought so. We were even planning on going to a Christmas party, but then I heard—Oh, it doesn't matter now. I made a complete arse of myself and she wound up going with someone else. I only dated Lavender to make her jealous."

Catching his father's frown, Ron hurried to continue. "I know, I know! It was a terrible thing to do, but I'd heard some things. There's no other way around it, so I'll just tell you—I found out that Hermione snogged Krum back in fourth year!"

His father looked slightly bemused by the admission, but still looked steadily at his son, waiting for an explanation. Sighing softly, Ron continued.

"Don't you get it, Dad? Hermione snogged Krum—an internationally renowned Quidditch player got there first. I hadn't ever kissed anyone."

"Were you waiting for Hermione?" His father prompted quietly.

Blushing, Ron nodded slowly. Playing with his spoon, Ron stroked his thumb against the concave surface repetitively as he cleared his throat.

"I thought it would be perfect, you know? She was the first girl I ever really noticed. I think that's why I got so shirty with her first year when she corrected me in Charms—I just wanted to impress her, you know? We were on the right track, leading up to our first date . . . ."

Ron stood up then, nervous energy coursing through his veins. Circling the room, he vented his frustration.

"Ugh! I was a total GIRL about it. I'd already planned out what to wear, thought about things to discuss to make myself seem smart, and had even timed out the evening to the exact moment when I would maneuver her over to the hanging mistletoe and steal a kiss from her. She'd think I was wonderful and admit that she'd been in love with me for years. We'd laugh over how thick we'd both been and hug . . . . We'd never be apart again. But I bollixed it up, as per my usual."

Mr. Weasley raised an eyebrow at his son's choice of words, but didn't admonish him. Instead, he waited for the boy who was growing steadily into manhood to continue.

Ron sagged back into his chair, head dipping forward into his waiting hand. As he began to knead his forehead, he continued.

"Thank Merlin I was poisoned on my birthday, because I don't think that Hermione would ever have talked to me again if I hadn't nearly died. Taking up with Lavender hurt her that much. So, I guess she did kind of fancy me before. But that's over now. We're friends again, but it's still brittle. I've tried to tuck it away, but it just won't do, Dad! I love her. I want to hold her and protect her, and I know that I can't. Even if she were here, I think that I've done too much for her to ever love me. What am I going to do now?"

Ron's eyes held a silent plea, and Mr. Weasley searched for the right words to comfort his son.

"Is it really so hopeless, Ron?" Mr. Weasley asked, smiling softly at his son.

"How can you make someone love you, Dad? There must be some secret to it. How did you make Mum fall for you?"

Mr. Weasley seemed to turn the matter over in his mind for long minutes before answering.

"I read a book."

* * *

Following his father into the living room, he watched his father skim the titles of several novels before pulling a thin volume from the shelf. Flipping to the table of contents, Mr. Weasley found what he was looking for, and looked at his youngest son.

Reading from the volume, Mr. Weasley said: "**If you cannot inspire a woman with love of you, fill her above the brim with love of herself; all that runs over will be yours. -- Charles Caleb Colton**."

Ron stared at his father in disbelief. "What the bloody hell does that mean?"

Smiling, Mr. Weasley replied. "Well, when I was about your age, I found myself in Muggle Studies, mooning over my fellow Gryffindor prefect Molly Prewitt. That's when I stumbled across Mr. Colton's words."

Leaning against the wall, Mr. Weasley ruffled his hair as his eyes swam with the memory.

"Your mother was so shy in those days—a wonderful friend, mind—but never thought very highly of herself as a girl. She was insecure about her looks and thought that the only reason a boy would be interested in her was for tutoring in Potions or Transfiguration. I realized that, no matter how obvious that I thought I was being in revealing my feelings, until she thought that she was worthy of that kind of male attention, she'd never believe that I fancied her like mad."

Mr. Weasley paused for a moment over his reminiscence, smiling slightly to himself.

"So, I started my campaign to win her heart. I began complimenting her whenever I saw her—every thought that came to mind, all of the little things that I usually thought in passing and then repressed, I let come spilling right out. At first, she was shocked." Mr. Weasley chuckled slightly before continuing, "But I eventually wore her down. Soon, she was asking me out for Hogsmeade weekend. The rest, of course, is history."

Ron felt the corners of his mouth lifting in an answering smile as he looked at the pleased expression on his father's face. Could it really be that simple to make someone love you?

He thought back over the years and tried to place the moment when he had first fell in love with Hermione. Memories of her chiding him over not applying himself to his homework dominated his recollections. Soon, though, he recalled the rapt expression on her face when he and Harry had told her about facing Aragog in the Forbidden Forest, or the moment in first year when he had claimed the knight for his position on the enormous Wizard Chess board. It was a look which mixed horror and fascination with a touch of admiration, and it had always made him feel special.

In the years that passed, while Harry achieved greater fame and Hermione gained greater knowledge, Ron felt more and more like their shadow—the clumsy sidekick with little to no worth or importance. But, in those moments when he felt least worthy, he would remember that look upon Hermione's face. There were touches of it beneath her exasperation even as she chided him to apply himself to his homework.

Hermione had always seen his potential—perhaps that was why he was so helplessly in love with her. There could never be anyone else for him, not when she was the first, the only person to really see him as he was and appreciate it.

Had he ever let her know that she was special as well? No. Like his father before him, Ron had suppressed those comments, worried that she would laugh at him for saying them aloud.

Hermione had always seemed so confident in herself and her abilities that such compliments seemed unnecessary, but maybe she wasn't as certain about how attractive she was. Krum had offered her pretty compliments. Perhaps that was why she had agreed to go to the Yule Ball with him. After all, she'd never seen anyone after Krum.

Ron had always assumed that this was because they were carrying on a long distance relationship, but as he looked back he couldn't remember a single bloke ever honestly approaching her after Krum. But, maybe she had been waiting on him all of this time, and when the moment had come to make his move he had dropped the ball out of jealousy. Was there time to correct his mistake?

Looking up, Ron watched his father reshelf the book and move back into the kitchen. Following him into the kitchen, Ron watched as his father took their empty mugs to the sink. Rinsing them beneath the weeping faucet, Mr. Weasley set the mugs in the sink to be washed later before rejoining Ron at the table.

"That's my suggestion, son. Sometimes, you just have to pluck up the courage to tell someone exactly how you feel. But it's worth the effort. And, I think that you'll agree that the time for indecision has passed."

Standing, Mr. Weasley moved towards the stairs to get ready for bed. Pausing in the doorway, he turned to say, "Hermione will be here in a few weeks, Ron. Plot your campaign. You're only hurting each other by waiting so long."

"Yes, sir." Ron answered solemnly.

Watching his father disappear into the shadows, Ron began to mull over his potential plan. He determined that, like his father, the key would be overcoming his own reticence to tell Hermione just what he saw in her. If he could make her see herself through his eyes, maybe she could learn to love him. If nothing else, it was worth a shot.

* * *

T-Minus sixty-three minutes until Hermione's arrival, and Ron was upstairs running down a list of compliments that he had compiled over the intervening weeks. Rifling through her letters, Ron derived a certain measure of confidence from reading "Love, from Hermione" over and over again.

He had begun his campaign a week after the late night conversation with his dad, and had made a point of writing Hermione once a week without fail. With each passing week, he noticed a change in the way she wrote. Not only was Hermione opening up to him, her very handwriting had changed. He could see from the relish she used to cross her t's and dot her i's that she was wearing the expression normally reserved for moments when she was concluding a particularly good passage in an essay. This was a very good sign.

However, Ron was most pleased to notice the way "Love" had changed throughout their correspondence. As the weeks wore on, rather than squaring off her letter with the common phrase, she seemed to reflect on the word as she wrote it. As a result, rather than the firm, certain hand that used to write the word, a softer, more hesitant hand had taken its place. She had even begun to write his name with a slight flourish, although, perhaps that was because he had started greeting her with: "Dear Hermione, (the bravest witch I know)" or "Dear Hermione, (the witch destined to free all House Elves)."

Regardless of the cause of these changes, Ron was feeling more and more confident that his campaign was working. He could hardly wait for her to reach the Burrow so that he could enter into the new phase: Face-to-Face Complimenting.

Glancing at his bedroom clock, he realized that Hermione was due to arrive in a few minutes. Looking in the mirror to quickly smooth his hair into some semblance of order, Ron picked up a package from the foot of his bed before rushing down the stairs to the hearth.

* * *

As Hermione stepped from the flames, Ron allowed the eager smile to bloom across his face. Meeting his eyes shyly, Hermione offered her own sweet smile before turning to receive the hugs of his mother and sister. Taking a deep breath, as Ginny released Hermione Ron stepped forward to hug her as well.

Hesitating for a moment in front of her, Ron raised his arms awkwardly and then stopped before actually embracing her. Looking into Hermione's face with a concerned expression, Ron was relieved to see her smile widen hesitantly as she raised her arms haltingly as well. With that motion, a huge smile burst across Ron's face and he leaned down to gather Hermione in a warm embrace.

He felt the tips of his ears turn fiery as one of her arms looped around the back of his neck and the other pressed against his back warmly. Ron found himself holding a lumpy package at the small of her back while his other arm crossed upwards to knead her delicate shoulder and shoulder blade. Ron inhaled the fragrance of her hair, and surreptitiously pressed a quick kiss to her ear before pulling back.

He felt awkward and huge standing before this tiny girl, and his hands played nervously with the white bundle he held. Slowly raising his eyes to her face, his gaze locked with Hermione's as she lightly touched the ear he had kissed. Masking the movement by tucking her hair behind that ear, Hermione glanced at Mrs. Weasley and Ginny before returning her gaze to Ron.

Mrs. Weasley cleared her throat, and her eyes held the faintest hint of tears as she asked Ginny to help her prepare lunch while Ron moved Hermione's trunk upstairs. Ginny balked for a moment before two pairs of pleading eyes turned the weight of their gazes upon her. Rolling her eyes in submission, Ginny turned and followed her mother into the recesses of the Weasley kitchen, leaving Ron alone with Hermione before the hearth.

"So . . . ." Hermione began.

"So . . . ." Ron answered.

They traded weak smiles before Hermione gestured at the package in Ron's hands.

"What's that, then?" She asked, her voice lilting slightly as she attempted to keep the tone light between them.

"Oh," Ron began, turning the package in his hands before pressing it into hers. "It's your Christmas gift . . . from this year. I just, well, I've had it all along but didn't send it because, well—you know."

He bowed his head as his face heated up in embarrassment and turned restlessly, glancing at the stairs and the kitchen doorway for a sign of any spying Weasleys. Turning back to Hermione, Ron was surprised to see that she was trembling.

Raising tear-glazed eyes to his, Hermione whispered. "Ron, I—I didn't bring anything for you."

"That's alright!" Ron eagerly responded, pointing at the gift. "It's not really that wonderful. But, I was such a miserable git this year . . . I thought that this would show you that, no matter how I acted, I still thought about you. And missed you."

Hermione smiled at him then, but noticed the way he kept glancing over his shoulder as if worried that someone would come in and interrupt them at any moment.

"Would you like me to open this now, or should we move my trunk first?" She prodded gently.

Shaking himself out of his stupor, Ron sputtered. "Oh! Yeah, we should probably move your trunk upstairs. Absolutely. Cheers!"

Ron missed the affectionate smile Hermione cast at him as he turned, grasping the trunk by its strap, and began lugging it upstairs. Turning at Ginny's floor, Ron shuffled down the hallway, painfully aware of the bushy haired, brilliant girl trailing along behind him. He emptied his lungs in one slow, long exhalation as he settled her trunk at the foot of the cot that had been erected for Hermione's comfort. He only turned to face her went her heard the faint rustling of paper.

She gasped as she peeled the tissue paper back. Was that a good sign? Ron watched Hermione carefully, his trepidation mounting as she turned the object over in her hands.

It was a snow globe that he had found on one of their Hogsmeade weekends earlier in the year. It was a tiny model of Hogwarts, with groups of students dispersed throughout the campus, plotting snowball fights. There were couples sharing private meetings outside the greenhouses, and even a solitary group of students standing on the banks of the lake. When the globe was turned over, glitter flitted around forming letters to words. With one twist the glitter spelled out: "Happy Holidays." With the second turn, the glitter broke apart to shimmer down on the landscape below.

Hermione's smile burst across her face in wonder.

"Oh, Ron! I love it. You didn't have to . . . er, I didn't get anything for you though."

Her face fell, and Ron rushed to lighten the mood. "No, no! Of course not, Hermione! I was Scrooge this past holiday, that's why I didn't send this gift then. You should be angry at me for holding it back."

Hermione giggled softly and stopped him by catching his hand in hers. "No, Ron. This is perfect. It's the perfect time. I—I'm ashamed to admit this, but I wouldn't have appreciated it if you had sent it on time, Ron. I was a Scrooge, too, I suppose."

Ron gripped her hand and smiled.

"You're the prettiest Scrooge I've ever seen," he murmured.

Hermione's mouth dropped open in surprise and her eyes grew round. She was just finding her voice when the sound of stomping was heard in the hallway.

Ginny swung in the doorway, her hair smacking against the doorjamb as she leaned against the frame.

"Mum says that lunch is ready." She said, catching the breath lost from her jog upstairs. "Are you both coming?" She asked, leaning away from the doorframe.

"Ta, Ginny." Ron said, ruffling the hair at the back of his head with a shy hand.

"Yes, we'll follow you down." Hermione returned, rewrapping her present in paper before setting it on the bookshelf beside the door. As she looked back at him over er shoulder, her eyes seemed to ask, "Coming, Ron?"

He nodded, rushing forward to follow them both downstairs.

* * *

It was a week later, and there were no signs of Hermione falling in love with him yet. After such a promising beginning, Ron was shocked to notice an awkwardness developing between them the more he complimented her.

* * *

"Hermione, your hair looks lovely today. It really brings out the toffee-color in your eyes."

"Oh, you're wearing your hair up today? That's nice. You have a really graceful neck."

"Hermione, are you wearing perfume? I've been meaning to mention how nice you smell. Really scrummy, actually."

"No, really, Hermione. You are the perfect height. It's awful being tall . . . I wish I were as small as you, sort of like Harry. Then maybe I wouldn't feel so clumsy all of the time."

"That's a wicked jumper you have on today. It's a brilliant shade . . . really brings out your complexion. And it's so tight . . . I mean fitted! Fitted. It's nicely, er, fitted. It really shows off your figure to a nice advantage, that's all. I should go."

* * *

The last comment had been the clencher. They had reverted back to their awkward stand-off stance, and Hermione made sure that they were never alone. But he couldn't help himself. Ron kept offering his clumsy compliments with weaker and weaker smiles, and Hermione kept withdrawing further and further away from him. Harry was meant to arrive the next day and he still hadn't managed to win Hermione over. Perhaps Mr. Weasley's plan only worked the first time around. Perhaps he really had missed his chance.

After a particularly awkward moment, when Ron had compared Hermione's bottom to a particularly lovely Honeyduke's treat, Ginny pulled him aside as Hermione rushed into the kitchen to help Mrs. Weasley with dessert.

"What is WRONG with you?" She demanded angrily. "Stop teasing Hermione, or she's like to run back home until the wedding."

"What?" Ron asked in surprise, watching the twins hover beside the fireplace mantle with their father, waiting for him to leave so that they might finally pounce on their ickle-Ronniekins.

"Ginny," Ron whispered hoarsely, pulling her more firmly into the hallway, away from prying eyes and ears. "I'm NOT teasing her. I'm, well, I'm tying to make her fall in love with me."

Ginny goggled at him. "Well, you have a funny way of showing it! Hermione's sniffled herself to sleep every night for the past week because she thinks she can't do anything to please you. Every time that she tries a new hairstyle or jumper, you have to mock her for it. Her ego's brittle enough as it is, Ron."

Ron's mouth gaped like an asphyxiating goldfish. "But, but that's what I'm trying not to do, Ginny! I've been trying to compliment her, show her how I see her. I thought that, if she could see herself the way I see her, she'd love me back."

"Oh, Ronnie." Ginny commiserated. "Look, I'll tell you what. If I can get you and Hermione alone tonight, you have to promise me that you'll tell her EVERYTHING—including what you just told me. The only thing that will win her over at this point is that kind of honesty, Ron. It's the only way that she'll see that you've just been nervous about telling her how you feel, rather than nervous about correcting her in front of your family."

She stilled him with a raised hand when he was about to speak.

"Yes or No, Ron?"

Ron took a deep breath before answering.

"What, not requiring an Unbreakable Vow as well, Ginny?"

Cocking her head to the side, Ginny crossed her arms across her chest before answering.

"Don't tempt me, Ron."

"Alright, then," he sputtered. "Yes, I promise to confess everything if you can get us alone this evening."

Taking his measure in a glance, Ginny began to smile.

"Consider it done."

* * *

After dinner that night, when everyone else was retiring to the living room for a game of cribbage, Molly Weasley called out to Ron and Hermione before they could make their escape. She asked them to follow her into the kitchen to help her with the preparations for Harry's arrival.

After Ginny had come and talked with her about what Ron had been up to for the past few weeks, things seemed to click in Molly's mind. After a quick conversation with Arthur, her suspicions were confirmed. Ron was in love with Hermione and trying, so desperately in his own clumsy way, to make her love him as well. As she glanced now at the two stragglers, watching them cast wary glances at one another, Molly thought it was obvious that their affections were mutual. In fact, she was more surprised by the fact that they'd managed to stay apart for so long than the fact that they had finally realized that they fancied each other like mad.

"I need you both to go out to your father's shed and bring in the box marked 'Harry.' I know that you're more than capable of carrying the box on your own, Ron, but I thought that Hermione could help you by opening the doors and such. Besides, you've both barely had a moment to yourselves since you got here!"

She watched the couple blanch slightly at her words and beamed at them with encouragement. As she watched them go, she hoped that Ron would do his best. She was already plotting jumper designs for their offspring as the screen door creaked open and shut on its ancient springs.

* * *

"I think I see the box in the back, Ron. Yes, to the left there."

Hermione pointed with a shaking finger, refusing to meet Ron's gaze.

As he shut the door behind himself with a gentle thud, her gaze flitted to his in mild concern.

"Hermione," he began softly, inadvertently backing her into a corner as he stepped forward. "We need to talk."

Hermione laughed nervously and tried to edge around him, but found that Ron was far more solid and heartbreakingly determined to have his way. Slumping against the wall, Hermione demanded.

"Talk about WHAT, Ron? Are you just going to taunt me again?"

"No, Hermione. I—"

"Because, let me tell you something, Ron. I don't appreciate your comments, alright? I know that I'm no Fleur. We can't all be obnoxiously Veela, or French, you know!"

After this outburst, Hermione dropped her gaze and mutinously turned her face away from his until it was fully cast in shadows.

"Hermione, when have I ever tried to correct _you_? Now, before you get all shirty, let me explain. I may have tried to get you to relax on schoolwork, or tried to get you to participate in snowball fights, but it was only because I was . . . well, I was jealous."

Hermione looked at him in surprise, her mouth opening swiftly to respond to this revelation, but Ron barreled on ahead, knowing that if he didn't get it all out now, that he never would.

"I was jealous of school, I was jealous of schoolwork, I was jealous of the people you tutored . . . Bloody hell, Hermione, I was even jealous of Harry! I was jealous of everything that kept you and me apart from each other. This week, I wasn't trying to correct you. I was just trying to show you that I've always admired you—I wanted to show you how I've always wanted you for myself."

Plucking up the nerve, Ron raised his hand to finger a few of her curls.

Voice breaking, Ron continued. "I love your hair. It's so wonderfully full. Just like you, it can be bold and brazen, or sleek and controlled. It can frame your eyes and mouth, or reveal the tiny birthmark at the nape of your neck."

He curled his fingers around her nape, shocked to find himself stroking the spot that he had just been whispering about and more than shocked to realize that she was letting him.

"You have this wonderful sense of style, Hermione. You're always tasteful, but some of the things that you wear drive me absolutely mad! I can see the way you've changed, the way your body has changed, and it makes me . . . want things. Things that, if I ever said them aloud would probably earn a sound beating—you'd probably slap me as hard as you slapped Malfoy in third year! If you knew half of the things that I've dreamed about, you'd think I was completely barking."

She shook her head slightly, tears welling up in her eyes, but Ron silenced her with a finger to her lips. Tracing them absently, he focused on the way they pouted and trembled beneath his touch as he continued.

"I have admired you for so long that I can't remember a time when I didn't. You're the smartest witch in Hogwarts history, best friends with the Boy-Who-Lived, and yet it hasn't gone to your head. You know that you're smart, but you don't lord it over me. You try to help me. You've always seen what I was capable of, Hermione. And, strangely enough, I've always known how bloody gorgeous you would be. You're beyond Veela to me, Hermione. You're . . . you're everything."

Hermione struggled then, trying to leave the shed but Ron wouldn't let her. Grasping her forearms, he bent down until they were face to face.

"Don't you see, Hermione? All of this time, I have fancied you like mad. I just hoped that someday, somewhere in that great, powerful brain of yours, the thought that you fancied me back would cross your mind, because it's the only thought that that stays in mine."

Letting her go, Ron stepped back and straightened up at his full height. Locking his gaze on her trembling hair, he said.

"I love you, Hermione. I can't imagine my life with anyone else—I've tried. Hell, you've seen my lame attempts at that. But it wouldn't do, Hermione, because you're **It** for me. I need you to feel the same, because, if we go to war with Harry, there may be no tomorrows or a later to pick this back up."

Hermione began trembling all over, and Ron caught her hands in his, squeezing them reassuringly.

"I need to love you now, Hermione. I need you to know this and feel this, too. Let me be the one that loves you, that shelters you. Let me in, Hermione!"

She broke away and managed to reach the door, but Ron caught her up in an embrace and held her to him. Exhaling softly into her hair, he felt her shudder as he continued to whisper.

"I know that I don't deserve you—I mean, who couldn't love you as much as I do, once they got to really know you? I don't blame Viktor for seeing it, too, you know. I blame him for saying it first—for having the bollocks to actually say it out loud."

He felt her weakening against him and turned her in his arms. Cupping her face tenderly, Ron spoke to her, gazing directly into her tear-glazed eyes.

"You are everything, Hermione Granger! Everything a man could crave. But I'm the one that's here, Hermione. I'm the one dying to hold you right now. You may not love me yet, but give me a chance . . . you always said that I had potential—let me prove it to you!"

Her eyes shuttered themselves then, letting her tears spill from her lashes in two perfect streams. He leaned forward then, kissing one tear as it coursed alongside her nose, kissing the other as it grazed the corner of her mouth, and then he was pressing his lips to hers, ears straining for the sigh that would make everything alright.

Her lips clung to his at first as her hands twisted in the crooks of his arms. All too soon she was pushing away from him, lowering her head to sob softly and gulping for breath. Suddenly, she met his gaze, and the fire burning there in her eyes warned him that they were far from a happy ending.

She pushed away from him then, violently wrenching herself out of his arms to pace the small shed. Smoothing her hair back from her face, Hermione turned to meet his helpless gaze with an accusatory one of her own. Coming forward, she smacked him hard across his arms—once, twice, three times—before dissolving into tears. When he would have taken her in his arms again, she stepped back and took a few calming breaths. Then, with a shaky voice, Hermione began to speak.

"Ronald Bilius Weasley—How dare you!"

Ron felt his heart fall somewhere into his bowels and lowered his gaze as she railed against him.

"You have always been the one most capable of hurting me. I probably wouldn't have worked so hard all of these years if I weren't so determined to impress you. I never would have accepted Viktor's invitation to the Yule Ball if I hadn't wanted you to see me—Hermione the girl rather than the Brain. And you couldn't have broken my heart any more than you did this year when you chose Lavender's kisses over mine."

She turned away then, taking great gulps of air to calm herself. When her trembling subsided, she faced him once again with a determined expression on her face. It was the face he had grown to love over the years, the one that showed both exasperation and wonder as she looked at him. Licking her lips, a dam within her seemed to break and she began yelling at him with a force he hadn't seen since fourth year in the Gryffindor common room after the Yule Ball debacle.

"I am everything I am _because_ of you! I always felt like I had to impress you, to make you be my friend. If it wasn't for your derision in first year Charms, I probably never would have applied myself so fully to my classes. I am able to help Harry because _you_ challenged me."

Stepping closer, Hermione took Ron's face in her hands and forced him to look at her. Licking her lips nervously, she finally confessed.

"I have loved you for . . . ever! All you ever had to do was ask, Ron, because I was already yours. Even after this horrid year, and everything that we've been through this week—as much as I might like to deny it, I still love you."

Ron met her watery smile with one of his own. He couldn't believe it! His fingers traced her face as if he were worried that she might disappear.

Closing her eyes shortly, Hermione leaned into the caress and swallowed slightly. When he showed no sign of kissing her again, Hermione opened her eyes and resumed her speech.

"Now, if you don't seize the opportunity before you, to grab me up and kiss me quick, I'll have no other recourse than to assume that the Sorting Hat was wrong about you, and that you should have been sorted into Hufflepuff, or worse—Slytherin!"

He needed no further instruction, and proceeded to ravish Hermione's lips with a leonine hunger that no one would fail to associate with the house of Godric Gryffindor.

* * *

When the couple trailed back into the Burrow an hour later, the Weasleys smiled upon them benevolently and wished them a goodnight before watching them ascend the stairs to prepare for bed. Not even the twins, with their mischief-loving hearts, had the audacity to ask them about the missing 'Harry' box. They were happy enough to take the mickey out of the fledgling couple at Bill and Fleur's wedding. 


End file.
